The Nursery Volume 28 No 165 September 1880 by Various

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Title: The Nursery, No. 165. September, 1880, Vol. 28
A Monthly Magazine For Youngest Readers

Author: Various

Release Date: December 28, 2004 [EBook #14493]

Language: English

Character set encoding: ASCII

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE NURSERY, NO. 165. ***

Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Charles Aldarondo and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team

No. 165.
SEPTEMBER, 1880.
Vol. XXVIII.

THE

NURSERY

A Monthly Magazine

FOR YOUNGEST READERS.

BOSTON:

THE NURSERY PUBLISHING CO.,

36 BROMFIELD STREET.

American News Co., 39 & 41 Chambers St., New York.

New-England News Co., 14 Franklin St., Boston,

Central News Company, Philadelphia.

Western News Company, Chicago.

$1.50 a Year, in advance.
A single copy, 15 cents.

Entered at the Post Office at Boston as Second-Class Matter.

CONTENTS OF NUMBER ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTY-FIVE,

PAGE

ROSA BONHEUR
By Alfred Selwyn
65

PIP AND POP
By Uncle Charles
67

WHAT CAME OF A DIRTY FACE By H.
69

WATERING THE FLOWERS
By Uncle Sam
70

BABY TO HER DOLL
By W. G.
72

PETER AND TOMMY
By Uncle Charles
73

IF I WERE A FAIRY
By George S. Burleigh
74

A CHILD FASCINATING BIRDS
By Emily Carter
77

DADDY FROG
By George Cooper
79

THE FIRST CATCH
By G.T.T.
81

TALKING WITH THE FINGERS
By S.A.E.
82

A DAY ON GRANDPA'S FARM
By S.J.P.
83

EMMA AND ETTA
By A.B.C.
85

BROWNIE'S ADVENTURE
By Mrs B. P, Sibley
87

A MISJUDGED FRIEND
By Marian Douglas
90

A CURE FOR THE TOOTHACHE By Mrs. Henrietta R. Eliot
92

SONG OF THE BIRDS
(Music by T. Crampton)
96

The change in the publishing department of "The Nursery" involves no change whatever in its editorial
management. Our facilities for carrying on the work are now better than ever. We have in preparation for
coming numbers some admirable designs, illustrative of the choicest reading-matter in prose and verse. None
but the best will find a place in its pages. "The Nursery" will maintain its reputation as the best of all magazines
for young children. All communications relating to it should be addressed to THE NURSERY PUBLISHING
COMPANY.

The time will soon be at hand for getting up clubs for the next year. It is a good plan to be in the field early. We
shall offer extra numbers, as usual, to NEW subscribers who send their money before the new year begins. Our
next number will contain a comprehensive and attractive Premium-List. Direct all remittances to THE
NURSERY PUBLISHING COMPANY.

Our friends of the Newspaper Press will oblige us by sending marked copies of monthly notices without fail. We
are about revising our exchange list, and wish to have the means of knowing to what papers we are indebted.
In all notices please mention that subscriptions should be addressed to THE NURSERY PUBLISHING
COMPANY.

We call attention to the list of illustrated-books for children which we offer for sale. (See advertisement on third
page of cover). THE BOUND VOLUMES OF "THE NURSERY,"
now thirteen in number, form a library from

which one cannot choose amiss. THE EASY BOOK and THE BEAUTIFUL BOOK
are unequalled by anything

of the kind in the market. Make drafts and money-orders payable to the order of

THE NURSERY PUBLISHING CO.,

36 Bromfield Street, Boston, Mass.

[Pg 64]

Oxen

[Pg 65]

ROSA BONHEUR.

bout forty years ago, at an exhibition of paintings in Paris, two small pictures attracted great attention.

One was called "Goats and Sheep;" the other, "Two Rabbits."

They were wonderfully true to life; and what made them still more remarkable was, that they were the production of a
girl only nineteen years old. That young French girl, Rosalie Bonheur, is now the famous artist known the world over as
"Rosa Bonheur."

She was born in Bordeaux in 1822. Her father, Raymond Bonheur, was an artist of much merit, and he was her first
teacher. From earliest youth she had a great fondness for animals, and delighted in studying their habits.

So, naturally enough, she made animals the subjects of her pictures, and it is in this peculiar department of art that she
has become eminent. Her works are quite numerous and widely known. One of the most famous is her "Horse-Fair,"
which was the chief attraction of the Paris Exhibition in 1853.

She is still practising her art; and in addition to that she is the directress of a gratuitous "School of Design" for young
girls. When Paris was besieged by the Prussians, the studio and residence of Rosa Bonheur were spared and respected
by special order of the crown prince.

Auguste Bonheur, a younger sister of Rosa, and one of her pupils, has also gained a high reputation as an artist. She,
too, excels as a painter of animals.

We give as a frontispiece to this number an engraving of one of her pictures, and we will let the picture tell its own story.
It is a work that would do credit to the famous Rosa herself.

ALFRED SELWYN.

[Pg 66]

PIP AND POP.

Pip.—Well, cousin Pop, how goes the world with you? Do you find any worms?

Pop.—Not a sign of one! What is to become of the race of sparrows, I don't know. The spring is late and chilly. There
is still frost in the ground.

Pip.—Not even a fly have I caught this blessed day.

Pop.—Just my luck, friend Pop! If it weren't for the crumbs a little girl throws out for me every day, I should starve.

Pip.—I should like to know that little girl. Where does she live?

Pop.—She is at school now. But come with me about two o'clock, and you shall be fed.

[Pg 67]

Pip.—Thank you, cousin. I'll do as much for you one of these days. I have heard of a little girl in Ohio, who feeds the
birds so well, that they follow her into the house, light on her head, and play with her.

Pop.—A thought strikes me, cousin. The little girl who feeds me is just as good as the Ohio girl; but I am not as good
as the Ohio birds. I have not trusted her as I ought to. I have not lighted on her head. I have not followed her into the
house.

Pip.—That was a fault, my dear Pop. I do not think she will put us in a cage. I think she will be good to us.

Pop.—Then I'll tell you what we'll do. After she has had her dinner, we'll fly in at the window, and light on the table.

Pip.—A good idea! I agree to it. Now, don't you be afraid, Pop, and back out.

Pop.—That I won't. First we'll go and have a good wash in the brook, so that our feathers shall be all clean.

Pip.—Another good idea! Hunger sharpens your wits, cousin.

Pop.—It sharpens my appetite: I know that.

Pip.—Come on, then! Let us see who will fly the faster to the brook. [They fly off.]

UNCLE CHARLES

[Pg 68]

WHAT CAME OF A DIRTY FACE.

A little boy I used to know,

Who went to a district school.

He learned to read, and he learned to write,

And to whisper against the rule.

What fun it was with his marbles to play

When the teacher was busy, and looking away!

This little boy, one day, was sent

A pail of water to bring,

And like Jack and Jill away he ran,

And back he came with a swing.

[Pg 69]
But, just as he entered the schoolroom door,
Both he and the water went down on the floor.

Oh, then, what a noise there was in the room!

The school-ma'am fetched a mop;

But, the more she tried the water to check,

The more it wouldn't stop.

There never was such water to run:

It seemed, with the children, to like the fun.

What was it that made the little boy fall,

And show such a lack of grace?

I'll tell you all, for I happen to know:

It was only a dirty face!

He looked at himself in the water-pail,
And that made the little boy's footstep fail.

WATERING THE FLOWERS.

"Why is it that flowers always grow so nicely for Mary? I often plant seeds; but nothing comes from them. They won't
grow for me. But blossoms seem to spring right up wherever she goes. They must have a particular liking for her."

That's what Master Tom said, one day, as he saw Mary watering the flowers.

Well, it is no wonder, Tom, if flowers do have a liking for such a lovable little girl. There's nothing so very strange about
that. How could they help liking her?

[Pg 70]

But, after all, perhaps the secret of the matter is, that Mary loves the flowers, and never forgets to take care of them.
She looks after them every day, and not by fits and starts, as some people do.

So she has good luck with her flowers, and is always able to make up a nice bouquet. And she not only enjoys the
flowers herself, but, what is better still, she takes delight in having others enjoy them with her.

[Pg 71]

She does not forget to send a liberal share to the Flower Mission; and many a poor sufferer has been cheered by the
sight of Mary's flowers.

UNCLE SAM.

BABY TO HER DOLL.

I wonder what you are thinking about

While you look so smiling at me.

You never frown, and you never pout;

Your eyes are as clear as can be,

And though you are often hurt, no doubt,

Not a tear do I ever see!

W.G.

[Pg 72]

PETER AND TOMMY.

Peter.—I say, Tommy, where did you get that new hat you have on your head?

Tommy.—What business is that of yours?

Peter.—Oh, I want to learn, that's all. I may be wanting to get a hat of that kind myself, you know. Is it the latest style?

Tommy.—Look here, young one: I sha'n't stand any of your chaffing. As soon as I get through with my bread and
butter, I shall take hold of you.

Peter.—Your bark is worse than your bite, Tommy. I shouldn't wonder if you were to come off second best in a
square fight.

Tommy.—Be off, Peter, and let me eat my bread and butter in peace.

[Pg 73]Peter.—It seems to me it would be good manners to offer me a bite.

Tommy.—You'll provoke me, Peter, to give you a thrashing.

Peter.—My advice is that you don't try it on.

Tommy.—Peter, you are a little upstart. I should leave nothing of you, if I once took hold of you in earnest.

Peter.—It's a hot day, Tommy, and the wisest thing you can do is to share your slice with me. I am very hungry.

Tommy.—Oh, if you're hungry, that alters the case. Sit down, Peter, and you shall have a good bite.

Peter.—Ah! That tastes nice. Now, Tommy, explain about that hat of yours.

Tommy.—That's my secret, Peter. I sha'n't tell it.

Peter.—I can guess it. It's only a basket.

Tommy.—What a wise Peter you are! And to think you've had no schooling as yet!

UNCLE CHARLES.

IF I WERE A FAIRY.

If I were a fairy slight and small,

Say, about as tall

As a span-worm forming the letter O,
What do you think I would do? I know!
In the bell of the lily I'd rock and swing,

Twitter and sing;

And, taking the gold-dust under me,

I'd splash the hips of the buzzing bee,
[Pg 74]
That he might have meal to make his bread,

With honey spread,

For his thousand babies all in rows,
Each in a bandbox up to his nose.

I'd count the curls of the hyacinth

By the fallen plinth,

And make them glossy with morning dew
By sunrise tinted with purple and blue;
And out of the sunset sky I'd get

For the violet

Yellow and red, and dark marine,
And purples deep, and a tender green;
And all night long, as they lay in sleep,

I would paint and steep

Their velvet cheeks in a hundred dyes,
That well they might open great staring eyes.

Unseen I would come where the tired ants tug

At a heavy slug,

With my rye-beard lance I'd push it along,
And they'd think, "All at once we are wondrous strong!"
In the nest of the robin, under the eaves

Of the apple-leaves,

I'd drop a worm in the gaping throats
That answer my chirp of the mother's notes.
[Pg 75]
When bonny Miss Harebell thirsts in vain

For a drop of rain,

I would fill at the brook my shining cap,
And lay it all dripping in her lap.

Oh, what would I do as a fairy small?

I cannot tell all;

But I would do much with a right good will:
To all things good, and to nothing ill.
And I'd laugh and skip, like a bird on wing,

Twitter and sing,

And make boys and girls, and birds and flowers,
All say, "What a lovely world is ours!"

Well, what if I am not quite so small?

I can do it all

In my own sweet home by the same good will,
No fairy, but something nobler still.

GEORGE S. BURLEIGH.

[Pg 76]

A CHILD FASCINATING BIRDS.

There is a little girl in Ohio, five years old, who has the power of charming birds at will. Her mother was the first to
notice the exercise of this strange power.

The little Girl was playing in the yard where some snowbirds were hopping about. When she spoke to them, they [Pg
77]would come, twittering with glee, and light upon her shoulders.

On her taking them in her hands and stroking them, the birds did not care to get away. They seemed to be highly
pleased, and, when let loose, would fly a short distance, and soon return to the child again.

She took several of them into the house to show to her mother. The mother, thinking the little girl might hurt the birds,
put them out of doors. But the little birds were not to be cheated in this way. No sooner was the door opened than they
flew into the room again, and alighted upon the girl's head, and began to chirp.

The birds staid about the house all winter. Whenever the door was opened, they would fly to the little girl. The parents
feared that this might be a bad omen, and that the little girl would die.

But she kept her health, and did not die. She still makes pets of the birds, and they come and play with her. She handles
them so gently, that even a humming-bird has been known to come to her several times.

Last winter a whole flock of birds kept near the house all the season. She would feed them, and then play with them for
hours at a time. Every morning the birds would fly to her window, and chirp, as much as to say, "Good-morning, little
mistress! Wake up, wake up!"

I think the child must be a near relation of that "Little Bell," of whom the poet Westwood sang,—

"Whom God's creatures love," the angels fair
Murmured, "God doth bless with angels' care:

Child, thy bed shall be

Folded safe from harm; love deep and kind
Shall watch around, and leave good gifts behind,

Little Bell, for thee!"

EMILY CARTER.

[Pg 78]

DADDY FROG.

Old Daddy Frog lives in a bog,

And his coat is bottle-green;

Yellow his vest; handsomely dressed,

His pretty shape is seen.

Puffing with pride, there at his side

His dame is sure to be:

Smiling, she says, "No one could raise

A finer family!

Singing Coa, coa, coa, kerchunk!"

Old Daddy Frog leaps on a log

In a spry and jaunty way:

Calling his boys—oh, what a noise!

He joins them in their play.

[Pg 79]
Hippety hop! under they pop,

And Daddy Frog says he,

"Isn't it fine? How they will shine,

This polished family!

Singing Coa, coa, coa, kerchunk!"

Old Daddy Frog lives in the bog

Till the summer days are done:

Little boys grow; dressed like a beau

Now is each model son.

Daddy Frog's eyes wink with surprise,

Filled with delight is he;

Dame at his side chuckles with pride,

"There's no such family!

Singing Coa, coa, coa, kerchunk!"

GEORGE COOPER.

THE FIRST CATCH.

[Pg 80]

[Pg 81]

TALKING WITH THE FINGERS.

No doubt, many of the little readers of "The Nursery" go to school; yet not many of them, I think, can ever have been in
such a school as the one in which I am teaching. The walls of the room are hung with pictures of birds, animals, insects,
fishes, and flowers. The blackboard is covered with drawings of many familiar objects.

While I am writing this, seven little boys and nine little girls (how many does that make in all?) are busy writing on their
slates. These children do not have any books to study. I tell them what I wish to teach them, and they write it down,
and try to remember it. But I teach them without speaking a word. I talk to them with my fingers.

You have guessed already, I dare say, that these dear little children are deaf and dumb; that is, they can neither hear nor
speak. They cannot go to school and live at home, and see papa and mamma night and morning, as you can; for there
are no schools for them near their homes. They have to go a long way from home, and stay in school many long weeks
without seeing father or mother, brother or sister. So, when vacation comes, how glad and happy they are! Some of
them are even now writing on their slates, "In sixteen weeks we shall go home."

I have said that these children cannot speak; but that is not quite true, for many of them are learning to speak. When I
talk to them, they look very closely at my lips, and so learn to tell what I am saying. Some of them have very sweet and